


maybe maybe i can share it with you

by afrocurl



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik finds one simple pleasure in all his time with Charles, but after everything in Cuba, who can provide Erik with that same satisfaction?</p><p>He finds an unlikely outlet in the newest and most unexpected member of the new Brotherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe maybe i can share it with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixture/gifts).



> Titled nicked from Foo Fighters' "Stranger Things Have Happened", and mixture, I hope you like this.

_Erik notices that Charles can be mildly absent-minded as he goes about the daily tasks at the CIA facility; the government can only provide Charles with so many distractions, but he seems to find each and every one of them, and he focuses on each little task rather than on their work. Erik picks up Charles’ watch at six forty-five and they walk in silence towards the mess - day in and day out - no matter what they each had been doing. The action is simple enough, and everyone soon sees that Charles and Erik are close; no one pays them any attention, and Erik finds that he likes the simple pleasures of keeping Charles on track._

_When they walk into the mess, Erik asks after Charles’ preferences well before he thinks of his own. It is easier to put Charles's welfare first before his own, even if he has been single-minded in his other endeavours._

_He’s never thought of food as a choice, though he knows Charles has. If he can simplify one thing in Charles’ harried day, then it means Charles’ mind can be occupied where it is truly needed._

-

Shaw’s compound - one of many if he believes his new team - is outfitted with a bland, oversimplified kitchen and no one seems interested in preparing dinner on their first night; everyone sags in weariness as the ramifications of the day settle over all of them.

Erik’s bones ache from the battle against Shaw, and he knows that Mystique’s still emotionally raw from her goodbye with Charles. He has yet to ask Angel, Azazel or Janos what they feel or think, but he can guess that they are in a similar position to him.

Erik thinks that for the first time in many months he will not be putting a plate together for Charles tonight. He winces, catching himself in a thought that will lead him back to New York despite Charles’ protests that they don’t want the same thing, and looks around the room for a few basics he can prepare for everyone. It is easier to focus on the here and now rather than the past. 

If he can’t make a meal for Charles, the least he can do is make a meal for everyone else. There is only one murmured "Thanks" at the end of dinner, and that from an unlikely source: Angel.

*

Even though he’s the first through the door to Emma’s cell, he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. He’s grown used to the five of them in Shaw’s space so far and can’t tell if adding Emma - who he will trust as far as he can throw her - will be a benefit to their plans or not.

Not that there are many plans yet. But there are ideas.

“Erik, I believe,” she says as he hopes she studies the cut of his jacket, the flare of his cape and the decoration to Shaw’s helmet.

“I prefer Magneto,” he says, confident when he feels a fool for being back in Virginia without Charles. Being in a CIA compound when he left so indignantly before.

He stands straighter still and lets the conversation lull his mind, ready for another plan of action.

Another start to justice and securing his place of power for all mutants.

*

There’s still a itch in Erik’s mind as they move from Shaw’s old hide-out to some “cabin” of Emma’s that might as well have been a mansion in the wilds of Vermont for all that Erik can tell. The space is at least three floors with a basement, and has three sitting rooms and at least a dozen bedrooms. Compared to Shaw’s previous abode, this is lavish, excessive and unnecessary. Even if being in Shaw’s space made Erik sick, there is no need to move, he thinks.

The kitchen, though, the kitchen is a marvel that might only compare to Charles’. Again, he stops himself from thinking of Charles and instead focuses on getting things ready for himself and his compatriots.

He has still taken to preparing and serving dinner, but aside from Angel, no one seems to thank him, even Emma who has the air of calculated manners and refined tastes. He smiles softly - just so - as Angel acknowledges him each time before schooling his features into cold indifference. He has yet to expose more of himself to these new partners, but he knows that they need a leader, someone strong and powerful.

Because thinking of how kind and receptive Angel has been to his work can only remind him that Charles is still alone, and probably...

Angel looks at him again when he leaves to clear the table and stops to whisper, “Come to my room after everyone’s asleep.”

He wants, desperately wants, to go now, to feel that he’s of use to someone, but he focuses instead on the domesticity of their current place and waits for later in the night. The plates are easy to clean and the rest of the work washes over him - lost in a fog of his own collected thoughts. 

He thinks of helping his mama, his papa, his neighbors when they were free of oppression, when they were relatively carefree. He thinks of how he helped a few people under Schmidt’s control in the camp, and how it filled him with a small sense of pride. He thinks of helping Charles find Alex, Armando and Sean. He thinks of tugging on Charles’ watch before dinner.

The fog passes, though he cannot say for how long he was lost to its spell. He feels around the house for everyone’s movements and gets nothing. Angel’s light is still on, and so he carefully leaves the kitchen and walks to her room.

There is a hidden promise in her request, Erik is sure. If only he can wait long enough.

-

_Erik has been leery of Charles’ telepathy, but after a few days of watching Charles grimace when Erik was closed off to Charles’ ability, Erik relents and lets Charles read his moods, and speak telepathically. Erik’s memories are still off limits without his consent, he insists._

_Charles agrees easily, and Erik smiles at his doing something so simple to make Charles smile after the pain he has caused._

_«Is there something you wanted to ask me?» Charles asks once they settle into their nightly routine of chess, a fine single-malt and a heated discussion. Erik’s still not accustomed to the mental presence, but he knows that Charles only relies on it when he’s unsure of Erik’s emotions and memories; when Charles wants to know about things that Erik can't speak about, not out loud._

_Erik pauses, and looks confused before he lets his mind trace back to the feeling he just experienced. “Yes,” he whispers, though he’s not sure why he can’t find his voice now. “Could I,” he stops and starts again, “Could I serve you?”_

_He almost chokes on the words, the raw emotions of asking for what he’s already been doing for weeks. He has never asked for something so _intimate_. He has never asked for anything, honestly. He knows that he must confuse Charles right now, and so he opens his mind to all the things he has done before that have brought him pleasure._

_“Serve me - how?” Charles asks, as if he doesn’t know what Erik means. Erik focuses on trying to push the ideas at Charles, but settles for speaking as well, unsure of his skills at mentally telling Charles information._

_“I enjoy making your dinner plate and getting your drinks. It brings me--” he trails off not knowing how to codify what he feels when he does these simple things for Charles. He has the same elated feeling mixed with a rightness when he opens a door for Charles with his mutation, and when he can set aside time for Charles to rest after a long day._

_“Oh,” Charles replies as if he’s pieced together something hidden in Erik’s thoughts, and then smoothes down the weary expression on his face into something fond. “If that’s what you’d like, Erik, I would be grateful to have the help.”_

_Erik smiles and looks to see that Charles’ glass is empty. “May I get you another drink?”_

_“You may,” Charles says._

-

Even though he is the leader of this new Brotherhood of Mutants, Erik softly knocks on the door to Angel’s new room. He knows he could have simply entered with a simple flick of his wrist, but he's found that in the months without Charles' easy guidance he's come to miss simple commands. Simple things to bring him (and his partner) joy.

There is a rustle from inside the room and then Angel opens the door. “Come in,” she says quietly.

“Thank you,” is all Erik says before he finds that Angel has led him to her bed and sits him down against the rumpled duvet. She looks at him as if he is scared - though he is - and equally valuable to her. It is a look he has not seen in months and he likes that she has brought this out of him.

She eyes him carefully. He wants to fidget, he wants to look away, but he also wants to find pleasure again. He's gone without it for so long that he's sure his mood has soured, even more so than the rest of the team is used to.He has no real concept for what he has been since they moved to Vermont, but he knows that he is not at top form.

“Have you been restless lately?” she asks, still in front of him. Her posture has improved as her wings continue to heal, and she lets them flutter out just a bit as if she knows Erik’s mind is occupied with her well-being as well as his own thoughts.

“Yes,” he whispers, caught at how honest he finds himself with her. He knows that she was always cautious before - her previous career made it easy for her to read people without difficulty; to know if they were sincere or not - and that her pragmatism has made it difficult for her and Mystique to get along, but he finds that he can understand Angel’s position - why she left and why she chose Shaw over Charles. Perhaps he understands why she was working where she was, but perhaps he doesn’t, because she gives him a look that says he’s wasting time.

“It’s your thing with Xavier?” It’s not odd that she figured it out, Erik thinks, as he remembers where he and Charles found her. She is perceptive, as is a requirement in her profession, and while he doesn’t remember hiding his work for Charles, no one else had said anything.

He nods this time, not trusting his voice. He can’t trust his memories of his time with Charles.

“Do you trust me?”

Again, he finds himself nodding because he can understand the allure of power and how that draws people away from where they should be. He’s never pried specifically into what happened when she was with Shaw, but he doesn’t need to know that it wasn’t as exciting as the man’s promises must have been. Of everyone here, she’s the most honest, the most open and the most forthright in her mind.

“What would you like, Erik?” Her wings stop fluttering and she stares at him as if he would hide the truth. He finds that the change in her demeanor speaks volumes to what could exist between them and he wants to test the waters of another type of relationship.

“To serve. To serve you.” The words crackle through the air and he regrets that he has left Charles, but equally grateful that Angel asks the question; that she is understanding enough to see Erik’s need as plain as day. His needs, though they are hidden in simple things that speak of him not as Magneto, but as Erik Lehnsherr, she has seen them and has no qualms about them.

“I would appreciate your help,” is all she says before she turns around and starts to pad back to her side of the bed.

“Could I get you anything before you sleep?” he finds himself asking, his voice returning as he feels the world settle around himself. 

“No, not tonight.” He waits for another command before he hears, “That’ll be all. But come and attend me in the morning?”

He nods and leaves quietly and settles into his own room for the night, feeling complete for the first time in months.

*

He finds himself paying more attention to what meals he prepares. The food Angel prefers as well as cataloging her choices of drinks for later use. He never says anything as he does, because he thinks that she understands enough of what he needs to let him be attentive here. To be useful to someone in a way that is not reliant on his powers or his position, but seemly because he is someone who wants to serve.

He wishes that there were more time for him to take account for her likes and dislikes, but as they start to find a rhythm, the Brotherhood is alerted to some off-book military testing facility that is using mutants, testing mutants.

Turning on his heels, Magneto rounds a corner and takes charge. He forgets service for the time being, and looks to the fate of mutants in distress.

*

Hours later - their initial search a failure - he slouches into their home and sighs. He hates when a mission goes wrong. He sits in his outfit, finding that the wool of the cape chafes after hours, but too exhausted to take it off.

Later, he shrugs it off, and moves to make himself ready for the rest of their day. There’s still dinner to prepare, and as he settled into the kitchen, he realizes he never looked after Angel upon their return. Quickly, he sets to making a large roasting chicken and as it starts in the oven, walks towards her room.

“May I come in?” he asks, though he doesn’t knock. 

“You may,” she says, though there is no indication that she is moving towards the door. Erik walks in quietly and sees that she is curled up on her duvet.

“How may I help?” he asks, because he knows he has been been derelict in his responsibilities.

“I could use a bath. Would you draw me one?”

He nods and walks into the bathroom to prepare warm water. He feels lighter as the water runs into the porcelain tub and lets the sound calm his mind.

Angel walks in sometime later, and smiles. A true smile. “Thank you,” she says before she undresses in front of him.

-

_It is just dawn when Erik bolts awake to one of Charles’ requests._

_«Could you bring me some aspirin? I have a splitting headache.» Charles’ mental voice is tight and overly controlled. The difference between his normal light speech and this all but makes Erik jump from his room and into Charles’._

_«Of course. Is there anything else you need?» Erik has learned so far that Charles is still hesitant in their relationship and doesn’t ask for more than he thinks Erik needs each time._

_«You, at my side,» is the last phrase Erik hears before he sprints to Charles’ en suite for the pills and water._

_He stays at Charles’ side until the pain recedes and Charles’ bright smile returns, even if it is smaller and a bit wan._

-

Angel carefully weaves her way through the kitchen on a cool and blustery autumn day. She is careful - always careful - when she approaches him. He knows that she does this out of kindness, because she still refuses to ask any questions about exactly what Erik needs from their arrangement, aside from knowing that Erik finds pleasure in serving her. 

“Would you help me later?” she whispers while her hands come to rest against the jut of his hips. She rises on her toes and adds, “I know you’re holding back today.”

Erik nods minutely and goes back to letting a few knives chop vegetables for dinner. She wears a silver bracelet for his benefit and he follows the unique hum of the metal as she walks out.

He rolls his shoulders as soon as she has left and looks at the work he has already done. The pieces are nearly too small for good use in their dinner tonight, but Erik leaves them alone and focuses on the delight at what Angel has planned later.

*

In her room later, Angel says nothing as Erik walks through the door. Erik’s nerves are alight with the potential and the unanswered question from earlier. She lays against her sheets as if she were on display, which might be the help she needed earlier. 

“Did you and Xavier?” she asks before she mimics an action she must be well familiar with.

He shakes his head, because he never asked and Charles never requested.

“Did you want to?”

He thinks - really thinks - and nods slowly. He loved serving Charles, but also felt his body pulling closer and closer to the other man as their days together passed. He knows that what he wants is wrong, but that doesn’t stop the thought from existing in his mind. He has known the touch of a woman, though he found it never satisfied him in the same way as his serving others has.

“I would like to try. With you,” she says slowly and carefully. “Would you like that?”

When they started this, she spoke of trust. Erik trusts her to be what he needs; to ask what he will not ask. He nods again, and moves closer to her bed.

-

_”Where is the man who lifted an anchor from the water?” Charles asks as if Erik weren’t frustrated with his own failure._

_“I need the motivation. I need the anger,” he says, his own ineptness staring back at him in the unmoving satellite dish._

_“I find that true focus comes between rage and serenity,” Charles says before he steps closer to Erik’s side. “Would you?” he asks, pantomiming his telepathy._

_Erik nods and then finds his mind flooded with memories he had thought lost. The strongest - the one that shines the brightest - is of himself and his mother one Hanukkah._

_“That was beautiful,” Charles says when Erik feels his presence gone. Charles is close now, so close and Erik wants so badly to push into Charles’ space and kiss him; Charles flicks a tear away from his cheek and Erik wants to reach out and touch that same spot. He wants to thank Charles for the gift of the memory and to show his gratitude. He has given so much of himself for Charles and now Charles’ repayment seems so much greater than the sum of Erik’s work._

_He wants so much, but just as he makes to move, there is a call to the two of them from the house. Moira’s voice says something about Kennedy speaking to the nation._

_Charles turns away - towards Moira and the window - and leaves Erik alone. Erik stays for a moment as he tries to settle his emotions._

_He finds a pit opening up in his stomach instead. It will not leave, no matter how much Erik tries to think of the memory Charles gave him._

-

“I don’t normally get this horny,” she says though hitched breaths; her fingers dig into his back, searching for purchase and support.

“I never do,” he replies, though he finds that right now he’s feeling good, his body’s reacting well enough to please her.

“You don’t look it,” she adds before she pushes back against his thrusts. She’s a good coach, a good guide and Erik finds that he enjoys her pleasure in their union. He thrusts again and listens as she keens. “Kiss me.”

He follows, he’ll always follow. He chases the feeling of joy and happiness in her pleasure. She rocks up into him again and again, and cries out in ecstasy at last - and as she does, Erik feels his own release between them.

It takes them both a few minutes to calm their breathing, but Erik can’t shake the bubbling feeling at what he has done with and for Angel.

He knows many parts of their relationship may change, but that doesn’t diminish all that he has done for her. Or all that he will do.

That thought brings him back to Charles - what Charles might think of him sleeping with a woman - and he pushes it aside, afraid of what Angel might think if she catches the difference in his face. His wants and his desires haven’t changed, but Erik knows that if Charles knew that he had been replaced, it would sting.

His thoughts only reminds him that all that he does is to gain pleasure for another person and from that person. That will keep him at Angel’s side - now - and for however long she’s willing.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta and to another friend for some general advise on how not to mess up the themes.


End file.
